


Hitter, Hacker, Grifter, Thief and Recon Marine

by KahtyaSofia



Series: Generation Kill/Leverage Crossover Fics [1]
Category: Generation Kill, Leverage
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Humor, Military, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-14
Updated: 2009-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 15:51:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KahtyaSofia/pseuds/KahtyaSofia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm telling you, Hardison, we got trouble. This guy's a Recon Marine."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hitter, Hacker, Grifter, Thief and Recon Marine

**Author's Note:**

> I see Templemarker's Gen Kill/Burn Notice and I raise a Leverage.

Brad hated it when Nate traveled. He hated when Nate was incommunicado while on an airplane. He hated the change in their usual time zone differences that made it hard to figure out when it was okay to call and not have to worry if he was interrupting sleep or a jack or … whatever.

 

He was driving himself insane just sitting around his house waiting for a text or call or an email. Brad needed a distraction. This bar always served that purpose perfectly.

 

It was a dive bar, to be sure. A lack of décor, limited drink selection and the dartboard and pool tables suited its rough clientele. It was a short ride on his bike from his house and it was never crowded. Brad could drink in peace and watch the television over the bar with its sound turned down.

 

It was early on a weeknight so the bar itself held only a small number of regulars. Brad took a stool near the end of the bar where he'd have a good view of the bartender as he worked.

 

And what a bartender he was. This guy was new. Medium height and a stocky build that was all solid muscle. His dark hair fell to his shoulders and swirled around his face easily.

 

The bartender greeted Brad almost immediately, laying down a cocktail napkin in front of him. "What can I get you?" he asked in a gravelly voice that settled like a hot stone in Brad's gut.

 

Bartender had the most beautiful cornflower-blue eyes Brad had ever seen. Then there was that full-lipped, sinful mouth that quirked a smile filled with dangerous things.

 

Brad ordered a local microbrew and had it in hand as fast as Ray could work up a rant. Only once had another Marine criticized Brad's choice in beer. After taking up the gauntlet Brad had thrown down, the Marine discovered there are stronger drink that Guinness. That was the last time anyone had seriously called Brad Colbert a pussy.

 

"You're new." Brad said to the bartender who stood nearby washing glasses.

 

"Just started." Bartender replied, his eyes darting back around the room, not once coming to rest on the glasses he was washing.

 

"I'm Brad." he supplied, just to see if those blue eyes would land on him again.

 

"Eliot." Bartender replied and yes, his eyes were just as blue as Brad had thought they were.

 

They talked while Eliot worked. They discussed neutral topics; very innocuous things. Brad couldn't help but notice that Eliot was always in motion. He never just stood and leaned against the register to chat. His feet, his hands, his eyes were always in motion. He swept the room with his gaze regularly but seemed to focus on the mixed group playing pool. They seemed a little hinky to Brad, too, but he couldn't quite place just what was off about them.

 

"I move around a lot," Eliot was saying. "Bartending is an easy job to get and tips mean instant cash."

 

"You don't want to know how much I pay in insurance for that bike," Brad said ruefully in response to Eliot's question about how hard it was to insure a bike as fast as Brad's.

 

Brad liked Eliot. He was smart and witty. He had a broad array of experiences to share. He also carried himself like he knew how to throw down. Brad noticed Eliot's hands were thick, muscled and heavily scarred. He didn't hold himself like a man who'd seen combat but he did look like a man who'd done battle.

 

On the other hand, he was probably just another one of those MMA fuckers who thought it made him tough to climb into an octagonal ring and play three rounds of slap and tickle. Talk about your homoerotic sports. Brad found himself wondering what Eliot would look like in nothing but a pair of shorts, sweat running down his bare chest, throwing out powerful punches and kicks.

 

Well into his second beer, Brad gave himself a swift mental kick in his own ass. Flirting with blue eyes and full lips because he was missing a certain pair of green eyes paired with a cock-sucking mouth was just fucking … pathetic! He had no interest at all in Eliot; he was just playing a game to amuse himself and kill some time.

 

Fuck it. He should just go home and wait for Nate to call.

 

He was so goddamn whipped.

 

Brad was about to reach for his wallet to close his tab when Eliot moved just so and his hair swung away from his ear and Brad thought he saw a communications ear bud. Warning flares were firing all through Brad's brain.

 

Eliot excused himself and slid around the end of the bar and headed for the restrooms and payphone. Brad watched his progress without appearing to watch. When Eliot ducked down the hallway, he slid off his stool and followed. Each step he took was Recon Marine silent.

 

When he got to the opening of the hallway, Brad paused to listen. Eliot was just beyond, talking in a low voice. Trouble was, he was alone.

 

"I'm telling you, Hardison, we got trouble. This guy's a Recon Marine."

 

No question, Brad had been 'made', not that he was trying to hide it.

 

"I can tell by the way he sits." Eliot hissed to the empty hallway, finger pressed to the ear Brad had suspected held the comm device.

 

Pause.

 

"It's a very distinctive sit." Whoever this Hardison was, he was just dense enough to be irritating and Brad wasn't even the one talking to him.

 

Brad wasn't surprised to find he'd correctly assessed Eliot. He was a warrior of some sort; certainly enough of one to be able to identify Brad. Probably a mercenary, and that didn't sit well with Brad at all.

 

"You don't get it, Hardison," Eliot was waving his hands in agitation. "They call these guys the Killer Elite. If I have to go up against him, I'll be lucky if it ends in a draw. And he's really big."

 

Brad had heard enough. He eased around the wall and stepped silently into the hallway.

 

"Unless I just sneak up on you in the dark and silently slit your throat," Brad watched Eliot spin around in surprise. "You'd have to know I was coming in the first place to be able to go up against me."

 

There was a long pause while Eliot just stared at Brad, mouth open in surprise. Then he said, "That's easy for you to say, tucked up safe in your van with your computers. I'm the one face-to-face with a damn Viking."

 

Brad couldn't help it; he had to smile at that. He just made sure to lace his smile with a little menace.

 

"So, what are you?" Brad asked, drawing himself up to his full height and blocking any egress that direction. "A mercenary?"

 

"No, hell no," Eliot snapped, clearly offended and that both intrigued and amused Brad.

 

"Cause mercenaries mean trouble and I like my town just like it is," Brad's tone was deceptively casual. "You don't want to be stirring up trouble around here."

 

"Technically, I'm a retrieval specialist." Eliot said quickly.

 

"And that's better, how?" Brad asked with some edge.

 

"We gave up stealing for profit," Eliot explained. "Now we retrieve things and run cons on people who deserve it. We do it for folks who need help and have no where to turn."

 

"Who's 'we'?" Brad asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

 

"Me," Eliot said, touching fingers to the ear with the comm device. "Me and my … team."

 

Rumors had been circulating of a team of grifters who had taken up the whole Robin Hood routine but Brad had relegated that to Urban Legend status. Trouble was, he realized that if he'd heard the rumors, con artists would have also heard them and might try to use the stories as a cover.

 

"You realize that sounds like the plot for a cable t.v. show?" Brad folded his arms across his chest.

 

"Or something Hardison would download off the internet." Eliot grumbled.

 

"He'd be better off sticking with Doctor Who." Brad fired back.

 

"Look, man," Eliot suddenly became imploring. "You're a Recon Marine. Gathering intel is your specialty, right?"

 

Brad inclined his head in acknowledgment.

 

"Go out there and look at the two groups of people playing pool," Eliot gestured back toward the bar with one beefy hand. "The guy in the hat and the two women are my team. The guys at the other table are our marks."

 

Brad moved to lean against the entrance of the hallway so he could keep one eye on Eliot and the other on the two pool tables.

 

"Now, you tell me, based on your own observational skills," Eliot bargained. "Who are the good guys and who are the bad guys."

 

Eliot stood stock still while Brad watched the two groups.

 

The group made up entirely of men was rude and belligerent. They drank too much, got too loud and swaggered. They tried once in a while to paw at one of the women on Eliot's 'team' only to be deftly redirected by the blond or rebuffed by the brunette.

 

In contrast, Eliot's team was relaxed but watchful. The man gave a barely perceptible tip of his hat to Brad, simply acknowledging the fact he knew he was under observation. When the blond gave him a bright smile and a vigorous wave, the brunette quickly stifled the action.

 

Brad had to stifle his laugh.

 

"Well?" Eliot asked after another long while.

 

Brad let out a heavy sigh of resignation. "If I hear you guys have done anything, stolen anything, conned anyone that didn't need stealing or conning, I will hunt you down and kill you." He turned to look at Eliot so he could see truth of Brad's words.

 

"Understood, man," Eliot agreed readily. "I take that promise seriously. I had the misfortune of experiencing one of your guys' handiwork in Afghanistan a couple years back."

 

"It wasn't really your misfortune if you're here to tell the story," Brad said blandly. "Was it?"

 

"No," Eliot capitulated. "I guess that makes me pretty damn lucky."

 

"Of this, I am sure." Brad agreed.

 

"So, we good?" Eliot asked.

 

"For now," Brad stood up from the doorway and slowly headed for the exit. "If you're all still here in a week, we'll be having words."

 

Eliot nodded his understanding and Brad left the bar, stepping out into the warm California night. He pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through the contacts list. He didn't care what time it was anywhere else in the world or what he might be interrupting.

 

Nate was never gonna fucking believe this shit.


End file.
